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a-lexia11 · 1 month

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Friendships and Sleepover (meeting in Barcelona Part 2)

Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: around 9k

Warning:a tiny bit of angst,fluffy.

Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

“¡¿Qué?! ¿Eres la chica por la que ha estado deprimida durante semanas?!” (What?! You're the girl she's been depressed about for weeks?!) she exclaimed, surprised.

——

“¿Ella habló de mí?” (She talked about me?) I asked, surprised. It shocked me because, since she rejected me, I didn't think she'd talk about me to her sister.

“¡Sí! ¡Eres la chica que le pidió su número pero ella te rechazó porque tiene miedo al amor debido a su trabajo, verdad? pero por alguna razón nunca me dijo tu nombre!” (Yes! You're the girl who asked for her number but she rejected you because she's scared of love due to her job right? for some reason she never told me your name) she reminded me, surprised.

“Sí, soy yo ¿De verdad te dijo eso?” (Yes, it’s me. Did she really tell you that?) I asked, a bit embarrassed.

“Sí, lo hizo, pero ¿por qué no me dijiste que la volviste a ver?” (Yes, she did, but why didn't you tell me you saw her again?) she asked.

“Me dio mucha vergüenza y quería olvidarlo, lo siento” (I was too embarrassed and wanted to forget about it, I'm sorry) I apologized feeling a little bad.

Alba truly is an amazing and loving person. She has been a tremendous help to me here in Barcelona, always offering her support and guidance.

We share everything with each other, from our deepest secrets to our everyday experiences. Her presence has made my time in this city so much more enjoyable and fulfilling.

I feel a bit guilty for not telling her about my interaction with Alexia in the street, especially since she was really excited when I first mentioned Alexia to her that night at the sushi restaurant.

Now, it feels like I kept something important from her, and I don't want to hurt her feelings or make her feel left out.

“No necesitas disculparte, lo entiendo. Tenías todo el derecho de no decírmelo. Todos tienen sus propias razones para mantener ciertas cosas en privado, y respeto eso. Tus sentimientos y decisiones son importantes para mí.” (No need to apologize, I understand. You had every right not to tell me. Everyone has their own reasons for keeping certain things private, and I respect that. Your feelings and choices are important to me) She told me gently putting her hand on my thigh,squeezing it.

“Eres la mejor” (you’re the best) I simply told her putting my hand on top of hers on my thigh.

“Pero te dije que el nombre de mi hermana es Alexia; podrías haberlo deducido por el nombre.” (But I told you my sister's name is Alexia; you could have figured that out from the name) she said getting back to the subject.

“Alba, no sabía su nombre hasta que la volví a ver en la calle y fue entonces cuando ella me rechazó. Además, ¿sabes cuántas Alexias hay en España? No podía simplemente sacar conclusiones basadas en un nombre y no tenía idea de cómo se veía tu Alexia” (Alba, I didn't know her name until I saw her again on the street and that’s when she rejected me. Plus, do you know how many Alexias there are in Spain? I couldn't have just jumped to conclusions based on a name and I had no idea how your Alexia looked like) I replied matter-of-factly.

She gave me a look that said “yes you’re right” and shrugged her shoulders.

“Somos las chicas más tontas de España” (we are the stupidest girl in Spain) she said laughing a little.

I turned back to the field, watching Alexia's every move. I couldn't believe it...

Alexia and the other players started heading back into the tunnel. Alba called out her name to catch her attention. Alexia looked up at her sister and smiled.

Alba then put her arms around my shoulders and pulled me closer,so that Alexia could see me.

Alba grinned widely and pointed at me. I smiled softly at her and waved.

Alexia's jaw literally dropped in shock, her eyes widening as if she had just seen a ghost.

She stumbled a little, almost falling over, before colliding with one of her teammates.

Her face turned pale, and she quickly apologized to her teammates.

Then, she turned back to look at us, her eyebrows furrowed deeply in confusion, and her mouth still slightly agape. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit at her bewildered reaction, finding it both surprising and amusing.

After blinking a few times to collect herself, she managed to smile and gave a small wave.

Her movements seemed almost mechanical, as if she were on autopilot. Then, with a final glance back at us, she turned and disappeared into the tunnel, leaving an air of lingering uncertainty behind her.

——

Throughout the entire match, I was mesmerized by Alexia's performance.I don't watch football because I find it boring but it's completely different when it comes to her.

She is absolutely incredible. While watching the match, Alba filled me in on Alexia's career details.

She explained how Alexia is nicknamed “La Reina” because she's the best female footballer in the world. She's also a two-time Ballon d'Or winner, she has won the Champions League back in 2021, and numerous other trophies.

I couldn't believe my ears. I was in the presence of a true legend. Given the number of people wearing Alexia's jersey and the way the crowd cheered every time she touched the ball, it was clear that she was deeply loved and idolized.

At the end of the match, Barcelona clinched an easy victory with a score of 3-0. Players from both teams exchanged congratulations and hugs.

Alba and I stood up to leave the stadium when we heard someone calling her name. We turned around to see Alexia signaling for us to come closer.

We walked down the stairs and leaned over the barrier separating us from Alexia. She looked up at me and said “hola” with a soft smile. I returned the greeting and smiled back.

She looked incredibly attractive in her kit, and the sweat only added to her appeal. We gazed at each other for a few moments until Alba broke the silence, waving her hand and saying, “¡Oye! Todavía estoy aquí.” (Hey! I'm still here) which made us laugh and looked at Alba.

“Ven a mi casa” (Come to my place) Alexia said. “Podemos pasar un rato allí y luego unirnos a mamá en el restaurante.” (We can spend some time there and then joined mom at the restaurant) Alba nodded in agreement.

“¡Vale, nos vemos allí!” (Okay, see you there) Alexia said with a smile before walking into the tunnel.

——

Alba and I got back in the car and headed to Alexia's apartment. Once parked, we entered the building and take the elevator to Alexia’s apartment. Alba searched through her bags to find the spare key to Alexia’s place.

After finding it, she unlocked the door, and Alexia’s fluffy dog came bounding toward us. “Nala!” I exclaimed, picking up the tiny dog.

“¿Cómo sabes su nombre?” (How do you know her name?) Alba asked, closing the door and moving further into the apartment, settling on the couch. I followed her, still holding Nala, and sat down beside Alba.

“La conocí en el parque. La segunda vez que vi a Alexia, Nala corrió directamente hacia mí.” (I met her at the park. The second time I saw Alexia, Nala ran straight to me) I explained, petting Nala as she attempted to lick my face and Alba just hummed.

“Todavía no puedo creer esta situación, ¡es una puta locura!” (I still can’t believe this situation, it’s fucking crazy) she said, reaching for the TV remote and turning on the TV.

“Yeah, I can’t either” I replied, more to myself and looked at Alba.

Now that I think about it, how could I not have noticed that Alba and Alexia were related? They look exactly the same, with their strikingly similar features and mannerisms. It's almost uncanny how much they resemble each other, right down to their expressions.

“Así que, ¿estás enamorado de mi hermana?” (So, you’re in love with my sister) Alba teased, poking my cheek, snapping me out of my thoughts

“Deja de decir eso, no estoy enamorada. Solo he conocido a tu hermana tres veces antes de hoy y apenas hablamos.” (Stop it, I’m not in love. I’ve only met your sister three times before today and we barely talked) I said, swatting her hand away.

“Claro, claro... Alexia y Y/N están enamoradas el una del otra” (Sure, sure… Alexia and Y/N are in love with each other) she sang cheerfully, puckering her lips in a playful manner.

I grabbed a pillow next to me and playfully hit her with it. She pushed me away and laughed, turning her attention back to the TV.

——

About 20 minutes later, the apartment door opened, and there stood Alexia. She was wearing a Barcelona tracksuit and her hair was a little wet. I couldn't help but think she looked even more stunning.

Nala, who had been in my arms since we arrived, leapt out and ran straight to Alexia to greet her.

“Hola nena” Alexia said, picking Nala up and kissing her soft fur.

Alba also got up and ran to her sister, greeting her with a big hug and multiple kisses on the cheek. Alexia hugged her back and kissed her forehead as they pulled away and Alexia put Nala down.

I stood up too, feeling a bit unsure and awkward in the middle of her living room.

Alexia glanced at me and walked over. She smiled softly before pulling me into a gentle hug.She smells so good…

“Hello” she whispered in english into my ear and I greeted her back softly.

With her arms around my waist and her tall, muscular body against mine, I had never felt so safe.

She pulled away far too quickly for my liking, and I already missed the warmth of her body.

“Alexia, te presentaría a Y/N, pero aparentemente ustedes ya se conocieron antes, ¿verdad?” (Alexia, I would introduced you to Y/N but apparently you guys already met before right?) She asked a smirk playing on her lips and she wriggled her eyebrows.

Alexia walked pass Alba putting one of her large hands on Alba’s face pushing her away “Métete en tus asuntos, tonta”(Mind your own business, idiot) she said making her way to the kitchen.

“Voy a hacerme un batido, ¿quieren uno?” (I’m making myself a smoothie, do you guys want one?) she asked, looking at both Alba and me.

Alba and I politely declined, and we both took our seats at the kitchen table, sitting face to face.

As Alexia rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, searching for the ingredients for her smoothie, Alba and I started discussing our upcoming classes.

While I was talking to Alba, I felt Alexia sit next to me, really close, placing her smoothie on the table. Honestly, I couldn't focus on what Alba was saying anymore.

Then Alba's phone started ringing. She checked who was calling.

“Necesito contestar esta llamada, los dejaré solos para que puedan hablar un poco” (I need to answer this call,I’ll leave you two alone so that you can talk a little bit) she said winking at us a smug expression on her face.

She then stand up and walked towards what I assumed was Alexia's room, closing the door behind her.

I was left alone with Alexia, and an awkward silence filled the room.

“Did you like the game?” I heard Alexia asking after a few minutes of silence.

I couldn't say it enough, but I loved when she spoke in english.

I turned my head towards her and looked into her eyes, smiling. “Yes, you were amazing” I told her truthfully.

A blush spread across her cheeks, and she looked a little embarrassed but smiled nonetheless.

“So, you've been friends with Alba all this time? You work together at school, verdad?” she asked curiously, taking a sip of her smoothie.

“Um, yeah, we are co-teaching a class together. We met like two days after I first met you at that restaurant” I said to her.

“I didn't know you were her sister until today, though. She talked about you, obviously, but I never saw what you looked like or anything” I continued explaining and she nodded her head.

“Alba también habló de ti, pero al igual que tú, no relacioné los detalles. Mencionó tu nombre, pero para mí solo era un nombre, así que no podría haberte reconocido.” (Alba spoke about you too, but like you, I didn't link the details. She mentioned your name, but it was just a name to me, so I couldn't have recognized you) She explained her perspective in spanish.

“It’s okay, now we know…better late than never I suppose” I said smiling gently at her and she smiled back before looking back down at her smoothie.

Another awkward silence filled the room…God Alba please come back…

“You know, I felt very bad for not giving you my phone number. I—” but I cut her off because I really didn't want her to keep talking about this embarrassing moment.

“It's okay, you don't have to feel bad. I understand now” I told her.

She smiled at me sympathetically. “You know, now that you're pratically Alba's best friend, we can be friends too, but only if you want to...” she trailed off nervously and unsure.

I smiled at her. “Yes, we can be friends, of course.”

I extended my hand for a handshake, and she just looked at me in confusion.

“Let's do this all over again. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and you?”

She smiled softly and took my hand. “I am Alexia Putellas” she said, shaking my hand.

We smiled at each other and we let go of each other's hands “by the way nice jersey, you must be a big fan ..” she said jokingly.

“Oh thank you, Alba gave it to me, I only wore it because I like the colour.I have no idea who that “Alexia” is…but Alba told me that apparently she’s the best player in the world, I doubt it since I have no idea who she is, do you know her ? ” I joked.

“No, I don’t know her either, but you’re right the colors are pretty” she played along and we both giggled.

I smiled at her and and was about to agree when we were interrupted by Alba coming out of the other room.She sat back down, smirking at us.

“Soy yo de nuevo. Espero no estar interrumpiendo.” (It's me again. I hope I'm not interrupting) she said smugly, making me roll my eyes.

“Eres tan molesta, Albita.” (You are so annoying, Albita) I told her, glaring playfully and using the nickname the kids at school gave her.

Even though she'll never admit it to the kids, she absolutely hates that nickname for some reason.

“No me llames así, puta” (Don't call me that, bitch) she said, now glaring at me.

“No te enojes... Albita” (Oh, don't be angry... Albita) Alexia continued, also using the nickname to annoy her sister.

“No, no, no, no estamos haciendo eso, solo porque ustedes dos son pareja ahora no significa que puedan unirse para molestarme.” (No, no, no we are not doing that, just because you two are a couple now doesn't mean you can team up to annoy me) she scoffed.

No way, she did not just say that.

“No somos pareja.” (We're not a couple) Alexia and I said simultaneously, glancing at each other in surprise and then smiling.

——

After some time and talking more about this crazy situation to clear things up, and also teasing Alba, Alexia got up to get changed as we were about to leave for the restaurant to meet Eli, Alba, and Alexia’s mom.

As Alexia was getting ready, Alba was lying on the couch, scrolling through her phone, and I was at the kitchen table playing with Nala.

Alexia then made her reappearance; she looked beautiful. She was wearing large blue jeans and a white top with a “just do it” cap—so simple yet so beautiful.

She noticed my staring and looked at me with a teasing smile. I quickly turned my attention back to Nala.

Alba suddenly got up from the couch, shouting, “¡Vamos chicas, tengo hambre!” (Come on girls, I’m hungry).

Alexia and I both laughed at her. “Vamos en mi coche.” (Let’s take my car) Alexia said, picking up her car keys.

We exited the apartment but not before saying goodbye to Nala and made our way to the parking lot.

Alexia’s car was a sleek, black Cupra with tinted windows and shiny rims. As I stared at it, a wave of recognition washed over me. Wait a minute, I’ve definitely seen this car before.

“Hey! I recognize this car. It was you! You almost ran me over the other day in the parking lot” I told her accusingly as we got into the car. Alba and Alexia sat in the front, and I was in the back.

“It was you?! What do you mean I almost ran you over? You should be careful when you cross the road.Your mom never told you to look both sides of the road before crossing it? ” she laughed a little, glaring at me playfully.

“¡Oye, habla en español! ¡No entiendo! que está pasando? ” (Hey, speak in Spanish! I don’t understand! what is happening?) Alba said feeling a little left out of the conversation.

Alexia and I burst into giggles as we recounted the entire situation to her in Spanish.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she joked that Alexia should have just run me over and not stopped, so we could have met each other again even sooner.

The playful banter made the moment even more memorable, and we couldn't stop laughing at the thought of such a dramatic reunion.

——

Arriving at the restaurant, we made our way towards the entrance, and Alexia opened the door for both Alba and me. I smiled at her and thanked her.

The waitress greeted us, and we informed her that we would be four, as Eli hadn't arrived yet. She led us to a table for four, and Alexia and I sat next to each other, with Alba facing me.

While waiting for their mom, we talked about Alexia's upcoming important match since Barcelona will be playing in the final of the Champions League against Wolfsburg.

She mentioned that she told her teammates if they win the Champions League, she'll dye her hair pink.

Not gonna lie, I think pink would suit her.

After waiting for about fifteen minutes, Eli finally arrived, giving us a warm hug. She seemed to recognize me from the restaurant where we first met in Barcelona, as she looked at me a bit longer than usual.

As she sat down, Alba introduced me to her mom, saying, “Mami, esta es Y/N. Trabajamos juntas en la escuela y ahora es mi amiga.” (Mami, this is Y/N. We work together at school, and she's my friend now)

Eli greeted me warmly, saying, “Mucho gusto, Y/N. Aunque siento que nos hemos visto antes, ¿verdad? En un restaurante hace un tiempo, eres la estadounidense.” (Nice to meet you, Y/N. Although I feel like we've met before, right? At a restaurant a while ago, you're the American one.) Her gentle smile made me feel at ease as I confirmed “Sí, esa soy yo” (Yes, that's me.)

Throughout the entire dinner, I had the chance to get to know Eli better. She reminded me so much of my mom—sweet, caring, and fiercely protective over her daughters.

Her warmth and attentiveness were palpable, making me feel instantly at ease. It became clear to me where both Alba and Alexia got their kindness and sweetness from.

Eli's nurturing nature and genuine affection for her family shone through every word and gesture, leaving a lasting impression on me.

——

After a delightful dinner together, we bid farewell to Eli, exchanging warm hugs and promising to meet again in the near future.

Alexia, Alba, and I got back into the car and began our drive back to Alexia's apartment.

The ride was serene, with only the gentle tunes from the radio playing softly in the background. I frequently noticed Alexia glancing at me through the rearview mirror, and each time, we exchanged knowing smiles that spoke volumes.

When we finally arrived at Alexia's apartment, she carefully parked the car.

Alba and I started to say our goodbyes, lingering for a moment to appreciate the evening, before heading towards Alba's car.

As I hugged Alexia and said my goodbyes, she gently asked if we could talk for a moment. Her eyes conveyed a sense of urgency and sincerity.

She then looked at Alba, subtly signaling her to give us some privacy.

Understanding the cue, Alba nodded and walked towards her car, giving us the space we needed.

She patiently waited for me there, allowing Alexia and me to have our conversation undisturbed.

Alexia leaned casually against her car, her gaze fixed on me as she softly uttered, “Would you like to have lunch together tomorrow? I want to talk to you, just us” a tinge of nervousness evident in her tone.

I responded with a warm smile, “Absolutely, that sounds good.”

“Can I have your phone number please?” she inquired, extending her phone towards me.

I accepted, taking her phone and putting my number. “Sent me a text so I can save your contact too” I suggested.

Our laughter filled the air as she mischievously sent a message saying, "Alba es una tonta" (Alba is an idiot).

After saving her number, I playfully labeled her as “La Reina 👸” in my contacts, eliciting a playful eye roll from her.

As she opened her arms for a hug, I embraced her warmly. With a gentle rub on my back, she bid, “See you tomorrow.”

Returning the sentiment, I echoed, “See you tomorrow”.

Walking towards Alba's car, I glanced back to see Alexia looking at me. I waved, and she waved back before heading to her apartment building.

I got back into the car and Alba looked at me teasingly making kissing sound with her mouth, “tonta” (idiot) I insulted her and slapped her softly on the arm she just laughed and started the car.

——

The next day, I was getting ready for lunch with Alexia. I was a little nervous about it.

Alexia was supposed to come and pick me up, so I waited for her.

I spent almost an hour deciding what to wear—not something too fancy because it wasn’t a date, but not too casual either because I wanted to at least look good.

After choosing an appropriate outfit, I went to the bathroom to do my hair. I decided to leave it down instead of tying it up.

A few minutes later, I received a text from Alexia telling me she was in front of my building.

I quickly exited my apartment and spotted her waiting for me, leaning on her car with a bouquet of roses in her hand.

I got closer to her, and she looked up, smiling widely at me. I gave her a hug as a greeting, saying “hola.” She said it back, hugging me a little tighter.

We pulled away, and she handed me the bouquet of roses, saying “para ti” (for you) nervously.

I awed at her. “Thank you, Alexia. Those are my favorite flowers. How did you know?” I asked, smelling the roses.

“Um... I asked Alba about it” she said, a little nervous. I decided to be a bit bolder and kissed her cheek as a thank you.

She blushed a little. “Vamos” she said, opening the car door for me. I smiled at her and got into the car.

We parked in the restaurant's lot, and I smiled shyly at her upon realizing where she had taken me.

It was the place where we first met.

We both got out of the car and walked to the restaurant, with Alexia being the gentlewoman she is, opening the door for me.

We were seated at our table and placed our orders. “How was training this morning?” I asked her, since she mentioned during dinner yesterday that she had training.

“It was good, a bit intense since we're preparing for the Champions League final”she replied, sipping her water.

“I'm sure you all will do great. You won it last year, right?” I asked.

“Yes, we did. How did you know? Alba told me you didn't like football and didn't watch it” she teased.

Okay, so last night, just before heading to bed, I found myself diving into some research about Alexia and Barca.

Despite my usual disinterest in football, there's something about Alexia that's making me reconsider my opinion.

I read about her impressive career, her achievements, and the impact she's had on the sport and her team.

It's fascinating how someone can completely change your perspective on something you thought you didn't care about.

Maybe football isn't as boring as I once thought; in fact, it might be quite intriguing after all.

“Well, you know..Alba told me about it” I lied blushing slightly and took a sip of my water as Alexia chuckled.

Our food finally arrived, and we began to eat it. The paella I ordered the last time I was here was delicious, so I ordered it again.

“How's the paella?” she asked playfully , looking at me “Delicious” I simply replied, and she smiled softly at me.

There was a small moment of silence until I decided to speak. “I think we should address the elephant in the room" I said, looking at her.

Alexia frowned and looked around. “There’s no elephant in the room” she said, looking at me as if I were weird.

Oh, she didn’t understand the expression. Well, obviously Y/N, english isn’t her first language.

“Oh, sorry, no, it means... we should talk about...you know IT” I murmured, looking at my plate, avoiding eye contact.

I felt her large hand over mine, forcing me to look at her. “Yes, let's talk about it” she said delicately, stroking my hand before pulling it away.

“Um... I won't lie to you, the first time we met I felt like some kind of…connection? I guess. I know it sounds cliché, but it's true” I said diving right into it looking at her, but still unsure of myself.

“Don't worry, I felt the same.When I first saw you I thought you were really beautiful and I could not stop myself from staring at you” she said a little embarrassed and I blushed. “And when I saw you in the park again, I thought maybe, I don’t know, it was fate and it was my chance to talk to you” she continued.

“So, do you feel the same as I do? Like an attraction?” I asked.

“Yes, but...” she said, trying to find the right words.

“I know... you don’t want a relationship right now because of your job, Alba told me” I said, and she just nodded looking at me pitifully.

“Estoy realmente dedicado a centrarme en mi carrera en este momento, y es difícil equilibrar eso con tener una novia. Los viajes constantes y las demandas de mi trabajo hacen que sea difícil mantener una relación estable. Quiero darle a mi carrera la atención que merece, pero es difícil cuando los compromisos personales me están tirando en diferentes direcciones” (I'm really dedicated to focusing on my career right now, and it's tough to balance that with having a girlfriend. The constant traveling and the demands of my job make it difficult to maintain a stable relationship. I want to give my career the attention it deserves, but it’s hard when personal commitments are pulling me in different directions) she continued, and I nodded in understanding.

“I understand, it’s your career before everything else. You need to prioritize your professional growth and opportunities right now, and that means making some tough choices. It’s clear that your job requires a lot of your time and energy, and maintaining a relationship might not be feasible with your current commitments.” I said completely understanding where she’s coming from.

But I couldn't help feeling a bit sad. Since my first night in Barcelona, I've been feeling some kind of way about Alexia.

It's difficult to accept that I can't be with her because her demanding job takes up so much of her time and energy.

Feeling really sad and maybe a little embarrassed, I just look down at my hands resting on my lap, nervously playing with my fingers. It's like I'm trying to find some comfort in the small movements, but my mind keeps swirling with thoughts. The weight of the emotions makes it hard to lift my head, and I just want to disappear for a moment.

Alexia whispered, “mírame” (look at me), as she reached over the table and gently lifted my head with her hand. Her touch soft.

She gave me a sad smile, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and regret. It seemed like she felt bad for technically rejecting me... again. The moment was heavy with unspoken emotions, and her expression showed that she wished things could be different.

“Sabes, cuando Alba me habló de ti, mencionó repetidamente lo increíble que eres. No podía dejar de enfatizar lo maravillosa persona que eres, destacando tu amabilidad e inteligencia y por los pocos momentos que pasamos juntos, puedo decir que ella estaba diciendo la verdad.” (You know, when Alba spoke to me about you, she repeatedly mentioned how incredible you are. She couldn't stop emphasizing what an amazing person you are, highlighting your kindness and intelligence and from the few moments we spend together I can tell that she was telling the truth.) She spoke honestly in Spanish; I suppose she can express her emotions better in her native language.

“I still want to be friends with you, if you still want to be. I really value the connection we have, and I'd love for us to keep being a part of each other's lives. I really want to see more of you” she continued gently switching the language.

I hesitated for a moment to consider the situation.

Being friends with someone you might have a small crush on could complicate things. It’s probably not the best idea because it can blur the lines between friendship and romantic feelings, potentially leading to misunderstandings and hurt feelings. It’s important to think carefully about how this might affect both your emotions and the friendship itself.

Alexia could definitely see the hesitation on my face. She nervously bit her lips and looked away, her eyes reflecting a mix of anxiety and disappointment.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay. I completely understand…” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. It was clear that my reaction had affected her, and I could sense the vulnerability in her words.

She seemed to be bracing herself for a rejection, trying to mask her emotions but not quite succeeding.

Despite my initial thoughts of not wanting to be friends with someone I have a crush on, I also really want to be part of her life.

In a way, I already am, since Alba and I are inseparable, and that naturally keeps me connected to her.

Maybe, in time, I'll get over this crush... who knows?

It's a confusing mix of emotions, but being around her, even as just a friend, feels important to me.

“Yes I do still want to be friend with you” I finally told her smiling a little, reassuring her.

She seemed genuinely relieved by my answers and her face lit up with a bright smile. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and the warmth in her eyes made me feel more at ease.

After that, the conversation flowed effortlessly. We discussed a wide range of topics, from the mundane to the profound, and in the process, we got to know each other better.

She shared details about her career, and I discovered that not only does she have the Champions League final coming up, but she will also be participating in the World Cup in August. Her dedication and achievements were truly impressive.

She was equally interested in my life, listening intently to every word I had to say and looking at me with genuine interest.

For a brief moment, I forgot the reality that we could not be together, lost in the connection we were building.

——

After finishing eating, Alexia drove me back to my apartment.

When she parked, we both got out of the car. “Thank you very much for lunch. I'm really glad we were able to talk things out”

I said, genuinely happy about our time together. "We should do it again sometime," I added with a hopeful smile.

"No problem at all. I'm also really happy about it, and yes, we should definitely do this again," she replied, her eyes sparkling with the same happiness I felt.

The warmth in her voice and the sincerity of her words made me feel even more connected to her.

“Alright, I'm heading out now. I'll see you around, Alexia” I said, giving her a smile.

“Bye, Y/N” she responded, smiling back.

As I started to walk away, I heard her call out, “Espera!” (Wait!) I turned around, slightly surprised. “You forgot your flowers” she said, walking towards me.

“Oh, thanks” I replied gratefully and take the flowers from her hands before turning to leave again. Just when I thought I was free to go, I felt her hand on my shoulder, stopping me. I turned back, curious.

“Wait... there's something I wanted to ask you” she said, a bit nervously.

“Sure, what is it?” I asked, focusing on her.

“Um... Quería preguntarte. Tengo un partido el sábado por la tarde. ¿Te gustaría venir? No tienes que comprar una entrada; tengo extras para familiares y amigos.” (Um...I wanted to ask you. I have a game on Saturday afternoon. Would you like to come? You don't have to buy a ticket; I have extras for family and friends) she said a bit more nervous now.

“Um... will Alba be there?” I asked her.

“No, she has a dentist appointment, but Alba doesn't need to be there for you to be there too” she informed me. “Ahora también somos amigas, no necesitamos a Alba para pasar el rato juntos.” (We’re friends now too, we don’t need Alba to hang out together) she continued smiling a little.

“I’d love to come see you played again” I said, smiling softly. She smiled and hugged me.

I hugged her around the waist and buried my head in her shoulder, and I heard her whisper softly in my ear “No te arrepentirás” (You won't regret it.)

We parted, and I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said goodbye, waving to her.

She waited for me to enter the building before getting back into her car and driving away.

——

Saturday arrived quickly, and before I knew it, I was sitting by myself in the stadium, waiting for the game to start.

Throughout the entire week, Alexia and I were in constant communication.

Every morning, we would exchange cheerful good morning texts, and then we’d hop on FaceTime to cook breakfast together.

It was such a delightful routine to prepare our meals side by side, even if it was through a screen, and then sit down to eat together, sharing our first moments of the day.

She continuously showed her care by frequently checking in on me. She would ask how my day was going, and it felt wonderful to know she was thinking about me.

In the evenings, our connection continued as we would FaceTime again during dinner time. We’d prepare our dinners together, step by step, and then enjoy our meals while chatting and laughing, making the distance feel so much smaller.

Finally, as the night drew to a close, Alexia would always send me the sweetest goodnight texts. She wished me sweet dreams, and her words were the perfect way to end the day, leaving me with a warm and happy feeling as I drifted off to sleep

As I was looking around, I got a text from Alexia.

La Reina 👸: ¿Estás aquí? (Are you here?)

Me: Yes, I’m in my seat.I can’t wait to see you play!

She just sent me a winking emoji.

I smiled at my phone before locking it and waiting for the players to come onto the field.

After a while, the players finally emerged from the tunnel. Alexia was the first one out, with a serious face, ready for the match.

Barcelona was playing against Madrid CFF. It was their last game before the Champions League final in June.

Barcelona was down 2–1, with Alexia being the only one to score so far.

Unfortunately, Barcelona lost. I could see the disappointment in Alexia; she shook hands with her opponents and hugged her teammates before going to see some fans to sign their jersey and take photos.

She got closer to the section I was in, signing jersey and talking a little bit with the fans placing a smile on her face but you could clearly see she was disappointed with the match.

She spotted me and smile at me and I returned it.

Once she finished she went back into the tunnel.

Knowing that she probably is not in the mood to talk right now, I got up and made my way out of the stadium.

As I got into my car, I received a call from Alexia. “Hello” I answered. “Hola, are you still here?” she asked. “Yes, I'm in the parking lot; I was about to leave” I informed her.

“Can you please wait for me? I'll be there in 10 minutes” she requested. “Yes, no problem, I'll wait for you” I told her, and she thanked me before hanging up.

Just as she promised, 10 minutes later, I saw her car pulling up next to mine.

She got out of the car and smiled at me. I got closer to her, and she engulfed me in a hug, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my neck.

“Lo siento” (I'm sorry) she murmured softly. “Why?” I questioned her.

“You come here and I lose the game” she explained.

I pulled away and held her face in my hands. “I don’t really care that you lose, I enjoyed the game and you were amazing, chica este golazo!” I exclaimed trying to lighten her mood and she laughed a little.

We completely pulled away, but I could sense that she was still a little sad, so I took her hand in mine, caressing her knuckles softly to bring her some comfort.

“¿Estás haciendo algo ahora mismo?” (Are you doing something right now?) she questioned, her eyes looking at our joined hands

“No, why” I answered still caressing her knuckles.

“¿Te gustaría venir a mi apartamento? Podríamos ver una película y luego puedo cocinar la cena” (Would you like to come to my apartment? We could watch a movie and then I can cook dinner?) she proposed.

“Me encantaría tener compañía en este momento, no quiero estar sola.” (I’d love some companies right now, I don’t really want to be alone) she continued.

“I would love to” I told her not hesitating, squeezing her hand.

I pulled away from her hand. “Okay, let's go. Follow me” she said, and we both got into our cars, driving to Alexia’s apartment.

——

Upon arriving at her apartment, I sat down on the living room floor and played with Nala.

“Ella realmente te quiere” (She really likes you) Alexia said from her spot next to me on the floor caressing Nala’s soft fur.

“Of course, who doesn't?” I joked sassily, and Alexia smiled, giving me a gentle push.

She then got up and headed to the kitchen. “What do you want to eat for dinner?” she asked.

“I don't know, whatever you want” I replied.

“We can make lasagna” she suggested, rummaging through the cabinets for ingredients. "Oh, I love lasagna!" I exclaimed happily.

She laughed as I got up and headed to the kitchen to help her with the cooking.

She took her phone, connected it to the aux, and put on some music. “You and Alba are obsessed with Karol G” I told her.

“La mejora” (the best) she simply replied, singing along to the lyrics.

As we cooked together, I noticed that Alexia often glanced at me, and every time I caught her, she quickly looked away.

While waiting for the lasagna to cook and Alexia went to the bathroom, I decided to scroll through her Instagram. As I was doing so, I felt hands on my hips from behind and heard Alexia whisper, "Boo!" I got scared and almost dropped my phone as I turned around.

“Idiota” I said, laughing as she did. “Did you liked my pictures on Instagram? ” she asked teasingly. I blushed a little, huffed, and removed her hands from my hips, walking past her to check on the lasagna.

Once the lasagna was cooked, Alexia took it out of the oven while I set the table with plates and cutlery.

We both sat down, and Alexia changed the seating arrangement to sit next to me instead of across from me. We took the first bite of our lasagna.

“Mmm” I moaned. “Delicioso” I told Alexia, who agreed with me. “Good job” she said, raising her hand for a high five.

——

After finishing dinner, we cleared the table and did the dishes together. The kitchen was filled with the sound of running water and clinking dishes.

Alexia and I were standing side by side at the sink, chatting and laughing as we scrubbed the plates and glasses

Suddenly, without warning, Alexia decided to splash water on my face.

“Hey! Idiota!” I exclaimed, drying my hands quickly and rubbing my eyes since the water had gotten into them. The cold splash took me by surprise, and I blinked rapidly to clear my vision.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! That hurt” I said, pretending to be in pain and squinting as if the water had caused more discomfort than it actually had.

“¡Oh, mierda! ¡Y/N, lo siento mucho! ¿Estás bien?” (Oh shit! Y/N, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!) Alexia asked urgently, her voice filled with concern.

She took my face gently in her hands and tilted it back to get a better look at my eyes, her own eyes wide with worry.

I smirked at her, seeing the genuine distress on her face, and decided to take advantage of the situation. I scooped up a handful of soapy foam and, with a mischievous grin, smeared it all over her cheeks.

Alexia gasped in shock, her eyes widening as the foam clung to her face. I let out a loud, triumphant laugh and bolted from the sink, running across the kitchen. “¡Vas a arrepentirte de eso!” (You’re going to regret that!) she shouted, her initial shock giving way to laughter as she chased after me, both of us laughing and slipping on the wet floor.

——

By the time we finished our little water fight, our shirts were wet, so I asked if I could borrow one of her shirts. She agreed immediately and went to her room to find one for me.

She came back a moment later with one of her black hoodies. I thanked her and went to the bathroom to change. The hoodie smelled just like her and was so warm.

I returned to the living room to find Alexia already comfortable on the couch, her legs resting on the coffee table with a duvet covering them. She was scrolling through Netflix in search of a movie.

I sat down next to her, leaving some space between us so as not to make her uncomfortable.

She extended the duvet so she could covered my legs too. Nala came, jumping on the couch placing herself on Alexia’s leg.

Alexia selected a film named “Nowhere” and pressed play.

Midway through the movie, I felt myself getting tired, so I rested my head against the back of the couch. Alexia glanced at me and uttered, “Ven aqui”(come here) as she raised her arm. I moved closer to her and nestled into her side.

She slid her hand under my hoodie and began to stroke my side. “¿Está bien eso?”(Is that alright?) she inquired, to which I responded with a hum, too relaxed to speak.

Nala noticed me and barked, prompting me to place my hand on her soft fur beside Alexia's.

Over time, Alexia's hand inched closer to mine, and I instinctively reached for it, placing my hand in hers as our fingers intertwined.

Everything was so calm and peaceful that I couldn't help but fall asleep.

——

I woke up in a dark room, still in the same position as when I dozed off. Alexia was sleeping with her head resting against the back of the couch, which couldn't have been comfortable. Nala had decided to sleep on the floor.

Alexia and I were still holding hands, our fingers intertwined as if they were reluctant to let go. I could feel the warmth of her touch and I gently pulled my hand away, feeling a slight pang of reluctance as our fingers slowly separated.

“Alexia, Alexia” I called softly, shaking her gently. “¡Despierta!” (Wake up)

She groaned and woke up startled “¿Qué? ¿Qué pasa? ¿Estás bien?” (What? What's wrong? Are you okay?) she asked, placing her hand on the back of my head with concern.

“Everything's fine, we just fell asleep” I reassured her.

I sat up and reached for my phone. It was one in the morning. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was just so tired” I apologized.

“It's okay, don't worry” she reassured me, sitting up. “I should go” I said, standing up.

She stopped me by grabbing one of my hand “No, sleep here. It's too late and you're too tired to drive” she told me also getting up.

“No, no, I don't want to bother you” I told her. "You're not," she answered softly.

I take a moment to think it over. It's just one night, and with tomorrow being Sunday, there's no work to worry about.

“Fine” I finally give in.

“Let me grab you some shorts; you can't sleep in jeans” she said with a warm smile. I thanked her, appreciating her thoughtfulness, and she quickly disappeared into her room.

Moments later, she returned with a pair of Barca shorts in her hand. The fabric looked soft and comfortable. I took them gratefully and headed to the bathroom to change. As I slipped into the shorts, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, thankful for her kindness and the comfort of the new attire.

Returning to the living room, I was about to lie back on the couch when she stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “No, go sleep on the bed. I'll sleep on the couch” she insisted softly.

“Alexia, it's your apartment. You should sleep in your bed” I protested, trying to reason with her. “No, you're my guest. You sleep on the bed” she retorted firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“No, you sleep on the bed” I replied, standing my ground.

She let out an exasperated sigh and stepped closer, taking me by the arms and gently but firmly pulling me up. “Alexia, what are you doing?” I whispered, half yelling at her, confusion and surprise in my voice.

“Shhh” she shushed me, leading me with determined steps into her bedroom.

“Alexia—” I started to object, but she cut me off with a stern look. “Callate. We're both going to sleep in the bed. Is that okay with you?” (Quiet) she asked, her voice softening.

I looked at her, seeing the earnestness in her eyes, and just nodded, unable to find any more words to argue.

I settled onto the soft mattress, feeling her presence beside me, a comforting warmth in the dimly lit room. Despite my exhaustion, sleep eluded me, perhaps due to her proximity.

The scent of her shampoo lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of her closeness. Unlike on the couch, where slumber came easily with her nearby, sharing a bed introduced a new level of closeness and intimacy.

Turning to meet her gaze, I found her already looking back at me with a gaze that seemed to convey unspoken understanding. As she drew nearer, I shifted to face her, our eyes locked in a silent exchange of emotions.

Her hand, gentle and reassuring, cupped my cheek, her thumb tracing soothing patterns against my skin. The tender caress lulled me into a state of tranquility, my weariness giving way to a sense of calm.

“Está bien, ve a dormir, cariño, estoy aquí”(It’s okay, go to sleep,I’m here) her voice, a soft murmur, resonated in the quiet room as she pressed her forehead against mine.

The closeness of our breath mingling, the shared warmth, and her comforting presence gradually ushered me into the embrace of slumber.

——

I woke up the following morning to an empty space where Alexia should have been. Glancing at my phone, I saw it was 7 AM, and a sense of unease washed over me.

I got out of bed, thinking she might be in the bathroom or the kitchen, but after searching the apartment, I realized she was nowhere to be found.

Where could she possibly be at 7 AM on a Sunday?

Then, as I walked into the kitchen, I noticed a note on the table. My curiosity piqued, I picked it up and read:

“I went running, I will be back soon”

- Ale.

I couldn't help but chuckle. Who goes for a run at seven in the morning on a Sunday?

Well, apparently Alexia does. Her dedication and energy never ceased to amaze me.

I greeted Nala by giving her a lot of kisses and some belly rubs and made my way to the kitchen.

To show my gratitude for her hospitality and perhaps surprise her upon her return, I decided to make breakfast for her.

I rummaged through the kitchen, finding ingredients for a hearty meal. As I started cooking, the aroma filled the air, adding warmth to the quiet morning.

A little later, as I finished cooking, Alexia returned. “Bon dia” she greeted, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

She had been very affectionate since yesterday; maybe just maybe a little part of me think she had changed her mind about not wanting a girlfriend, or perhaps she was just naturally affectionate as a Spanish person.

“Bon dia” I replied. “I made you breakfast” I said, presenting the plate. She smiled softly at me. “Gracias” she responded.

As we settled at the table, the morning light creating a cozy atmosphere, we enjoyed our breakfast and chatted about the busy week ahead. There was a comfortable ease in our conversation that made the moment feel special.

After we finished eating, we tidied up the dishes and decided it was time to head out, feeling content with the start of our day.

I then decided it was time for me to leave. I truly enjoyed my night and morning with Alexia; spending this time together allowed us to bond even more. The conversations we had and the moments we shared made me feel closer to her.

I went back to her room, made the bed, and changed back into my clothes. I carefully folded the clothes she kindly let me borrow, making sure they were as neat as when she first gave them to me.

I strolled back into the living room, my heart filled with gratitude for Alexia's generosity. “I'm heading out now, thank you so much for letting me stay” I expressed to her.

Alexia, with a gentle smile, rose from the sofa and enveloped me in a warm hug. “De nada” she whispered softly, her voice carrying a sense of genuine care and hospitality.

After our embrace, I planted a tender kiss on her cheek, grabbed my car keys, and followed her to the door.

Alexia opened it for me.

“Adios” I told her , to which she replied with a kind smile. “Text me when you get home and be careful on the road” she reminded me, “and remember to look both way before you crossed the road” she teased playfully, a smirked on her lips and I giggled at her,

“I will” I assured her, touched by her thoughtfulness and made my way out of the door to the elevator.

——

The rest of the day, I couldn't stop thinking about my time at Alexia's. I just can't figure her out; she says she doesn't want a relationship right now, but then she goes and does all these things—giving me flowers, cuddling me, holding my hand.

It's so confusing because her actions speak differently from her words. She makes me feel so special and cared for, yet insists that she's does not want a relationship. It leaves me wondering if there's something more to her feelings that she's not ready to admit.

Ughh I hate love.

#woso community #woso #woso soccer #futfem #woso appreciation #woso x reader #women’s football #woso one shot #fcb femení #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader

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hier--soir · 9 months

Text

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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defmaybe · 7 days

Note

What would this kkura do to you?

The silk proving to be a thin and yet effective barrier, keeping you on the edge craving for her touch

Up close all in your personal space, the scent of her body lotion is mesmerizing. That tummy, those shoulder ,all within your reach but you're not allowed to touch or sometimes even look at them.

Her foot teasing your inner thighs, just to see your erection bulge uncontrollably

And that outline certainly isn't helping...

She's going to give you a reward in the end right? Riiiight??

I'm one lustful individual, Frisky, here's a quickie lmao

Midnight Blues

LE SSERAFIM's Miyawaki Sakura x Male Reader

1k words

It’s mostly your moans, really, as Sakura grins under the soft light from your television playing some fuckass Netflix rom-com, eyes focused on your torture. You can’t quite pinpoint where it started, but it’s like you’d care with her feet rubbing on your clothed thighs, anyway.

She hasn’t taken her shower yet, still in the midnight blue leather dress she wore for her stage today. White streaks of light are painted on it, and sweat can still be seen on her face. The smell of her rosy lotion and exhaustion permeate the room.

You shift on the couch, letting out a frustrated groan, “S–Sakura, please.”

“No, baby, I have a title. Say it and I’ll do it.”

Her soles contacting the clothed your sensitive area are trying to pull the words back inside your needy, slutty throat. “M–Mis–,” is what you can choke out.

“Mis–what, baby boy?” She asks in a sultry voice, the edge of her toes grazing your sacks, giving some expectations of what’s coming.

“Mistress.”

She lunges at your pajamas’ waistband, pulling it off to reveal your raging erection in a swift motion.

“Hard already?” Sakura chuckles, before sinking back onto the leather couch. It cries as it rubs against her suit.

“Y–Yes, mistress–ngh!” She grabs your cock with her bare soles. She strokes you while being careful of her long nails.

The room is filled with your slutty moans under the ministration Sakura is giving you. It has always been her expertise, really. There was a high-speed incident where it left you with your semen on the dashboard—to which she tastefully cleaned it up. Or the other time in the first class, where you had to suppress your moans to avoid waking up the other fellow passengers. Good thing she had her mouth on your cock by the time it spills your essence.

“M–Mistress, you’re s–so good at this,” you whine, hands gripping the poor fabric of your sofa.

“Thank you, baby,” she responds with a giggle, biting her finger while doing so. Fuck, if the footjob isn’t so damn good, you’d have leap onto her right now.

She ups the ante, rubbing your erection even quicker. And you can only moan out her name, “Mistress S–Sakura~,” as her heavenly dexterity continues to send electricity through you.

Again, she giggles at your pleasure. Her grip remains soft but tight on your length, at a moderato tempo. “Want me to go even faster, baby boy?”

“Y–Yes, mistress,” you reply in a haste.

She complies with your plea by speeding up her feet on your cock. Each stroke remains careful, yet so unrelenting at making you cum just for her, spreading your seed everywhere (but mostly, she prefers it inside her warm, welcoming mouth; she says that she loves your taste.)

“S–Sakura,” you say, trying to deliver something.

“Hey, my title, baby, remember?” Her voice laces with playful aggression, lower than it should be.

“No, I–I’m just gonna say t–that I love you, babe.”

And Sakura beams at your words.

“Aww, that’s so sweet baby, I love you too. Still,—” she moves in her seat just a little, trying to accommodate the pace she’s giving on your digit. “—you’ll have to cum for me, so let’s do this, alright, baby?”

You gaze back at her busy feet, seeing her rubbing your cock like that just sends shivers through you, doesn’t it? “Y–Yes, Sakura.”

The tempo is fast; it’s enough to make a sound louder than whatever the characters in your television are moaning right now. You can feel your impending climax from afar. It’s there, it’s there.

Sakura is probably feeling your orgasm coming with the tensed thighs, “Gonna cum, baby?”

“I–I think I–I’m close, mistress.”

“Wanna see more of me before you’re there, baby? Consider this a small gift,” she asks, hands seeming to toy with the zipper at the back. “Well, it’s not small, really.”

You let out a small laugh with the moan as you sheepishly nod at her proposal.

“Alright, baby.” She then unzips her leather top, still putting an effort into rubbing your raging cock. She slowly peels it off, revealing more bare, porcelain skin of hers at each second—neck, collarbones, cleavage. And then there’s the main course—her supple chest that you’ve always loved. Fuck, she even wears nothing underneath her sheer top. They look so smooth, so mouthwatering. Her brown, salivating nipples sitting atop of them is the best part of it, really.

And as it comes undone, she tosses the garment away, giving you the view of her bouncing, delicate breasts at each stroke.

“M–Mistress,” you involuntarily utter.

“Well, I don’t mind you staring, baby.” She laughs.

And with a few more strokes, you can feel it—the impending climax. It builds up inside your lower stomach. It seeps within your body like a plague—one that you’d let it destroy you.

“I’m gonna cum, mistress,” you mutter.

She smiles, before lifting off her seat, sinking to her knees in front of you. And within a whim, she easily swallows your cock, eyes focused on the target. You can do fucking nothing but moan.

“Yes, baby, moan for me,” Sakura says with your length being inside her cavern. “Cum for me.”

It’s almost there. Your thighs tense up, your grip on the couch has never been tighter, so is the tightness of her mouth. Her cheeks are hollowing just for you, creating such empyrean suction none can compare. She bobs her head up and down to push you to it—the orgasm you’ve always wanted.

“S–Sakura,” you utter, before giving in to your orgasm.

You spill loads and loads inside her wanting mouth as her eyes roll upwards to meet yours—so lost in the throes of pleasure. Your hips rock at each spurt, making your flesh hitting the depths inside her cavern. She silently yelps at each hit, jaws locked by your slutty cock.

It slowly dissipates, and you’re panting along with the descent. She laughs with your cock still stuffed within her mouth, before slowly, agonizingly, pulling herself out of it. You groan at the drag.

“Hmm, tastes good as always, baby.” She pulls her tongue out—all clean, unstained. She fucking swallowed it all.

“I always taste good, babe.”

Sakura stands up, smiling. “Wanna cuddle?”

“Definitely… maybe, after round two.”

#sakura #sakura smut #le sserafim #le sserafim smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #def asks

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buttdumplin · 5 months

Text

The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.

This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!

cw: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's word count: 2.1K

Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.

"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"

John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.

"Yours was good too, I trust?"

"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."

"I... will keep an eye out, dove."

"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."

He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.

Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.

"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"

"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.

"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."

"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.

"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"

Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."

John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.

"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.

They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.

"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."

Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.

You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."

You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.

"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."

"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.

"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.

You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.

"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"

Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.

"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."

Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"

"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.

His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.

"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.

You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"

A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.

"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."

"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"

Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."

And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.

Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.

You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."

There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.

"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."

He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.

By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.

"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"

He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"

"The boys?"

"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."

You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"

With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.

"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"

A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."

A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.

He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.

Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"

When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.

You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"

"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."

He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.

"Where did this come from?"

"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."

"Honey--"

"Please, just once."

"But I--"

"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."

"You don't--"

"I promise I'll be good for it."

Oh.

Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.

Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.

Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"

Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.

You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x latine reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough #this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao #honestly this is just precious moments with each of them #i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader #prepare to be fucking sick of me #frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again #also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments

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jazzyoranges · 11 months

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Wants and Needs

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: Wednesday gets jealous. she pegs you for funsies

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: g!p reader, pegging, strap-on (R receiving), anal, rimming (dw you wash your ass), overstimulation, possessive Wednesday, spanish/italian pet names and phrases, implied werewolf!R, Weds calls you puppy a lot, implied breeding kink, probably ooc Wednesday

Minors DNI!!!

“Cucciola.”

“Wednesday? What happened? Are you alright?”

“Home. Need… need you now.” Wednesday stumbles into your chest, wrapping her arms around you waist

“Love, how much have you had to drink?”

“D-Doesn’t matter.” The Addams practically growls into your shoulder

“We can’t do anything while you’re intoxicated, Wednesday. C’mon, le-“ your girlfriend pulls you into a searing kiss. She tugs at the nape of your neck, forcing you to grab at her waist to steady yourself

You faintly taste bourbon on her lips as she squeezes the skin just above your pants. Wednesday’s kisses are filled with lust, and something else you can’t exactly pinpoint. When your girlfriend finally pulls away, your lips are swollen due to Wednesday not-so-casually biting them every few seconds. She pulls you into another kiss, and you can’t help but follow her lead

The loud music, the lights, the dancing people, you had no idea why Wednesday even decided to go to a college party in the first place. That said, you’re getting a horny girlfriend out of the experience, so who can really complain? Definitely not you that’s for sure

“W-Wednesday…” You mumble into her lips

“Do you know how long that vampire has been looking at you?” She whispers but somehow you can hear her over the noise You try to turn away to scan your surroundings but Wednesday takes your chin in her hand so your attention is only on her

“She doesn’t deserve your gaze, puppy. Only I am allowed to look at you with lustful eyes.”

“I only have my sights on you, Wednesday,” you kiss her cheek “I promise I’d never look at another woman like how I look at you”

“Infidelity is not something I worry about in our relationship. Perhaps I should carve out her brain so she’ll never be able to have another inappropriate thought about you…” Wednesday mutters the last sentence to herself, but you start getting worried. If both of you don’t leave instantly the night will definitely end in blood. And not the kinky kind

“How about we go home, my love? Maybe a party wasn’t the best of ideas, I apologize”

“No, no. This night has given me the opportunity for me to truly claim you as mine.”

“Alright, let go home now, darling” You sling Wednesday’s arm around your shoulder, leading her to the exit of the apartment. You don’t notice the nasty glare she gives to the vampire

It takes… a considerable amount of time for Wednesday to walk down the 2 flights of stairs considering her stumbling. You opt to carry her halfway down the first set of stairs. Luckily you didn’t park too far from the apartment

You didn’t think it took too long to get to your shared apartment, but a certain Addams definitely had different ideas when she pushed you against the door with lust in her eyes

“Bedroom, now.” Wednesday mumbles in between bites to your neck

“My love, you-“

“You asked me to be your girlfriend on October 15th, 3:24am. I am sober enough to make love to you, cara mia.” Your girlfriend continues to bite and lick your neck, slowly guiding you to your shared bedroom

Wednesday doesn’t waste any time taking off your pants and boxers, revealing your erect penis. You were far too into being dominated than you’d like to admit. Only looking away for a second to take off your shirt, Wednesday already had a black strap-on attached to her hips

Stroking the faux cock with lube, your breath hitches at the sheer length and thickness of it

…Did Wednesday always have that?

“A-Aren’t you going to prep me first?”

“Hm, I’m sure you can take it raw, mi sol.” Your girlfriend presses a kiss to a quickly forming hickey on your neck

“But I suppose I could humor you.” Before you know what’s happening, Wednesday’s tongue is in your ass, and you don’t know how to feel about it

All uncertainties leave your head when she replaces her tongue with a finger. The sensation is new to you and it sends shivers up your spine when she starts to thrust, making you let out an almost pornographic moan. Wednesday enjoys how you’re clenching around her

One finger turns into two and you’re practically in heaven. Usually you were the one that did most of the moving, but having your very hot girlfriend fuck you in a place you’d never been fucked was absolutely melting your brain

“You’re ready, cucciola.”

“W-Wednesday!” You whimper when your girlfriend lifts up your hips and makes you hook your knees around her hips. Sometimes you forget short people can be strong

“Mi sol, tan asombrosa.” Wednesday eases herself into your asshole, and you practically sing at the intrusion. She watches your eyes roll in satisfaction with the tiniest smile on her face. The Addams should’ve indulged in her fantasies much sooner

You were a mess, to say the very least. You were happy with being a service top. Pleasing Wednesday, it made you happy knowing your girlfriend felt good. But this… this was a new sensation you’d love to get used to. If this was Wednesday’s way of slutting you out it was most definitely working

Truly, the Addams wished she could feel the silicone cock being squeezed by your tight asshole. But alas, your noises and reactions were enough to calm Wednesday’s nerves about the party. Only she was able to turn you into a moaning whore. Her slow thrusts became faster, and you’re basically a bumbling whimpering mess when your hole clenches around her cock

Perhaps this was what Wednesday felt when you topped. You’ve never felt so fucking full in your life. Her dick was practically incinerating your guts in the best way possible. To make make matters worse, you felt a familiar feeling bubble up in your lower stomach when Wednesday started to stroke your drooling cock while fucking your ass with even more fervor

The next words Wednesday utters make tears prick at your eyes

“Hold it, puppy.”

“Wednesday, please…” You whine with no avail

“Hold it.” Your girlfriend roughly slaps your ass, leaving a red mark. When you moan she does it again. And again. And again until you’re on the edge of crying. From the pleasure? From the pain? You can’t really tell over the stench of sex wafting around your shared room

Thankfully your girlfriend isn’t fully evil like she thinks

“Cum for me, cara mia.”

Doing as she says, long ropes of cum release from your hardened cock. You’ve never cum so much in your life, and you don’t want to admit that you’re a little disappointed it’s being put to waste on your stomach instead of in your beautiful girlfriend

Wednesday notices this, deciding to lap up the copious amounts of cum off your stomach. After the mind-blowing orgasm you just had, all you wanted to do was return the favor. You try to get up but unfortunately Wednesday pushes you down

“This is about you, mi sol.” The Addams sighs at the salty taste of your cum. When she’s finished, you wipe the excess off her chin and take a taste for yourself

“Thank you, Wednesday.” You bring your girlfriend closer to you, cuddling into her naked chest while pulling the blankets over your shoulders

“Qualsiasi cosa per te, tesoro mio.” Wednesday leaves a kiss on your forehead as you drift off to sleep

—

cucciola - puppy

mi sol, tan asombrosa - my sun, so amazing

cara mia - my darling

qualsiasi cosa per te, tesoro mio - anything for you, my darling

(all google translated, pls cut me some slack lol)

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #x reader

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books · 4 months

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Writer Spotlight: Rose Sutherland

Rose Sutherland @rosesutherlandwrites is a Toronto-based writer who grew up a voracious reader with an overactive imagination in Nova Scotia (where she once fell off a roof trying to re-enact Anne of Green Gables!). She's been to theatre school in NYC, apprenticed at a pâtisserie in rural France, and currently moonlights as an usher and bartender—in between writing queer folktales, practicing yoga, dancing, singing, searching out amazing coffee and croissants, and making niche jokes about Victor Hugo on the internet. She's mildly obsessed with the idea of one day owning a large dog, several chickens, and maybe a goat. A Sweet Sting of Salt is her debut novel.

Keep reading for more about character arcs in A Sweet Sting of Salt, Rose's favorite fanfic tropes, and some excellent reading recs 👀

Can you tell us about A Sweet Sting of Salt and how you came to write it?

A Sweet Sting of Salt is a queer (f/f) historical reimagining of the classic folktale of the selkie wife, set in 1830’s Nova Scotia. I call it a “reimagining” because while it draws on the folktale, it’s not a retelling of that tale so much as a story playing out in relation to that mythology. I’d wanted to write something centering a love story between two women for a while, but the initial spark came from a Tumblr post! It suggested the idea of selkies testifying before the UN as victims of human trafficking, which reminded me of all the things I disliked about the original folktale and its inherent darkness that is generally glossed over, starting me down the rabbit hole toward finding my own story.

How did you approach research for A Sweet Sting of Salt, and what is a favorite historical fact you learned?

I joke that I did a lot of research by osmosis: I already had a lot of base knowledge about the location, having grown up in Nova Scotia, and then set the story in a period that I’ve been absorbing information about in a low-key way for ages—1832 is also the year of the student rebellion in Les Mis, so I’ve been gleaning tidbits about this era since I first got into the musical and book back in high school. However, I had to do more specific research into things like British divorce law, period midwifery, and animal husbandry. I also visited some small, hyper-local museums on the South Shore that gave me an invaluable glimpse into daily life. I also did some fun practical research into things like “How long does it take to walk from x to y?” and “How cold IS a plunge into this body of water in March?” (Spoiler: Very.)

A fact that fascinated me but didn’t make it into the book was that some early European settlers in the area were granted lands by luck of the draw, pulling from a deck of playing cards: Each card was assigned to a specific 50-acre lot, and whatever you pulled, you were stuck with it.

When we meet them, Jean and Muirin are isolated for different reasons. What do you hope readers still searching for their people take away from A Sweet Sting of Salt?

That there’s always hope. It’s valuable and important to keep reaching out to the world around you, to be open, and not cut yourself off—the biggest reason for Jean’s loneliness at the beginning of this story is the way she has come to keep everyone around her at arm’s length, shutting herself away out of fear, and refusing to let anyone truly get to know her because she thinks that’s the best way to protect herself from being hurt again. Reaching out to others can take a real act of courage, especially if you’ve had bad experiences in the past, but “your people” will reach back to you.

Found family elements play a strong role throughout the novel, within supernatural and mundane settings and across species. Was this something you intended from the beginning, or did this grow out of writing the relationship between Jean and Muirin?

I always intended for Jean to have a found family of this type, which is something that a lot of queer people identify with, but those bonds also got stronger and more meaningful as I wrote, especially once Jean and Muirin began growing into their own family unit—their new relationship and the real danger that comes along with it put pressures on Jean’s other relationships that I hadn’t originally considered. Disagreements with Anneke and Laurie over Jean’s choices arise from their deep concern and love for her, and her own love and care for them, reflected in her responses, is a big part of what made them feel like a real family, for me. Jean and Laurie always having each other’s backs while also being the first to call one another out on their bullshit ended up being one of my favourite dynamics in the whole book.

The selkie myth carries an inherent element of transformation. What is a character transformation you most enjoyed writing, and why?

On a character level, the change in Jean’s worldview following a conversation with her childhood sweetheart meant a lot to me—it heals an old wound for her. I love how grounded and self-assured she is afterward, in spite of the daunting task still ahead of her. But my favourite transformation to write was the antagonist’s mask-off moment, where they directly threaten Jean for the first time. It’s so sly and coded so that only she will understand the menace behind it, a real dun-duh-dunnn moment, which was a lot of fun for me—I also enjoy the foreshadowing elements in that exchange.

This is your debut novel. Did anything surprise you about getting it from manuscript to published book?

Oh my gosh, how LONG it took! After I finished the original draft and decided it was worth attempting to publish, I spent over a year revising based on my own thoughts, input from beta readers, critique partners, and my mentor, Maureen Marshall (whom I connected with through the now defunct Author Mentor Match program, and whose book, The Paris Affair—about a young gay engineer attempting to help Gustave Eiffel secure the funding to build a certain celebrated Parisian landmark— is coming out in May). After that came a full year of querying agents and getting rejected. A lot. People loved Salty but weren’t quite sure what to do with her or where the book would fit in “the market,” which was hard to deal with at the time but is hilarious in retrospect: Salty was snapped up less than a month after she finally went out on submission! But that was back in 2022, and the book is only coming out now. Publishing can be painfully slow.

You’ve written fanfic in the past—do you have a favorite fanfic trope?

I’m not sure either of these counts as a trope, but I adore a character that’s “pure of heart, dumb of ass”, and love a truly unhinged Fanon Explanation For Canon Object. As a longtime Les Mis stan, I ship Tholomyes/Getting Punched. If you know, you know.

Do you have any favorite queer retellings of folktales you can recommend?

Right here on Tumblr, I’m a huge fan of @laurasimonsdaughter, who writes delightful riffs on classic folktales, truly inventive urban fantasy spins on old lore, and her own original folktales.

I’m currently reading Spear, an amazing queer, gender-bent, Arthurian novella by Nicola Griffiths. Anna Burke’s books Thorn and Nottingham are up next on my TBR. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of brilliant queer historicals that aren’t retellings (I recently loved Suzette Meyr’s The Sleeping Car Porter and Heather O’Neil’s When We Lost Our Heads) and wonderful historical retellings that aren’t queer (I highly recommend Molly Greeley’s beautiful, heartbreaking Marvelous, about the real-life couple that inspired Beauty and the Beast). Queer, historical retellings aimed at adults seem to be considered quite niche, still, and can take some digging to find! So, throwing this out to Tumblr: Do you have recommendations for me?

Do you have a writing routine? Is there a place/state of being/playlist you find most conducive to your writing practice?

My routine is chaotic at best, but I find I do my best work earlier in the day, so I usually scribble in my journal while I have breakfast, and then progress to working on my current project as I drink my second cup of coffee. I’m lucky—my day job is an evening gig, which mostly allows me to write on my preferred schedule… but I’ve also been known to have a bolt of inspiration strike at 10pm and dash home to write until well past midnight on occasion. Nothing quite like the hyperfocus zone!

What’s next for you? Are you working on anything you can tell us about?

No official news yet, but I’m currently working on a story set in 18th-century provincial France based on a true unsolved mystery of the past. It has me delving into a very specific branch of French folklore, and I hope future readers will pick up on common threads with one popular fairytale in particular. I’m really excited about where this one is headed, but keeping the details close to my chest for now!

Thank you Rose for taking the time to answer our questions! If you love queer fantasy and old folktales, grab yourself a copy of A Sweet Sting of Salt, and be sure to share your queer folktale reading recs with Rose on @rosesutherlandwrites!

#writer spotlight #writers' room #booklr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writeblr #creative writing #debut author #reading #rose sutherland #a sweet sting of salt #selkies #myths #fanfic #Les Mis #queer fiction #f/f fiction #queer folktales

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sthavoc · 6 months

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enzo with a girl who loves to read <3 she loves books like crime and punishment, dorian gray, on earth we're briefly gorgeous, etc... she's just such a bookworm and he loves it and is always seen with a book now because of her and he talks about her sometimes to like she recommended a book to him etc...

༼ ；📚 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

·˚ ༘ pairing: enzo x fem!bookworm!reader

·˚ ༘ summary: headcanons of how you got enzo into reading and him talking about your love for books.

·˚ ༘ warnings: fluff and admiration

·˚ ༘ note: I’m not rlly a big reader but I tried my best. I hope you enjoy! this one is a small blurb

☆ You have always had a love for books, mostly novels, no one could ever catch you without a book in your hands. That’s how Enzo met you. A book in hands and with the same admiration of the words that captured your attention.

“¿Quien es la nena que está con el libro?”

☆ Even the first gift Enzo ever got you was a book, a classic, The Pictures of Dorian Gray. You had already read the book, but you never got the chance to buy your own copy, and of course, after you mentioned it to Enzo he picked up on it and made sure to gift it to you.

“Te brillan los ojitos al leer, entonces te lo compré.”

It was also that the man knew how much you wanted it.

☆ And after months of dating you he even began to get curious as to why, why did you like reading so much? And so he once came up to you in bed while you had a few candles on and was reading a new book that you had just started, titled The Black Tulip. His question made you go on a rant for hours and after he had gotten his answer he began to simply nod along so you could continue talking, and only because he loved the sound of your voice.

After you finished you let him borrow two of your favorites, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous and Crime and Punishment. You were always very careful with your books and would never let anyone borrow them since you feared they would wrinkle the pages or spill something on them, but it was Enzo. You knew he was temperate with his things so he wouldn’t do anything to yours.

☆ After he read the books he understood why you loved them so much. The intrigued of not knowing what could happen next, the way the writer inked their pages, the prompt. The way the words made your heart sink, stop, have you at the edge of your seat. It was amazing.

He even started to read too, during his free time.

☆ When pictures of him would appear on the media, he would carry a book or would be reading one. He seemed at piece just like you would be.

“Look at Enzo reading a book just like his girlfriend. what a bookworm he is now.”

It was true, he had begun to buy books of his own, sometimes your recommendations, one of them being In a Shallow Grave by James Purdy.

☆ In one of the podcasts they brought up the question of, what does he do during his free time? And his answer was the obvious—

“Bueno ya llevo rato que me gusta leer. A mi novia le fascinan los libros entonces me prestó unos y los empecé a leer. Ahora llevo uno conmigo a todos lados.”

☆ Also when he speaks about you he does it in a way of admiration. He is so dedicated when somebody brings you up or mentions you. It’s like his favorite question, anything that involves you he loves.

“Se me hace tierno que le fascinen tanto los libros. Ya hasta me los recomienda, se pone muy contenta con el tema.“

☆ You were like his book, the way you would get excited to talk about them, he would get excited to talk about you. You were his reason for excitement. You were his ink on paper.

#enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic blurb #enzo vogrincic fic #enzo vogrincic imagine #enzo vogrincic one shot #enzo vogrincic x you

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certainlynotasimp · 1 year

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HIIIII! Okay so this idea has been living rent free in my head. But what if Miguel was away on a mission, and Sunny saw it as an opportunity to go ahead and jam out with headphones/earbuds/AirPods. Sunny’s a pretty good singer she just.. doesn’t like bringing it to people’s attention much. And I recommend listening to Can’t Tame Her by Zara Larsson. Sunny’s having the time of her life singing and dancing. Miguel gets back, and Sunny’s still jamming out until she eventually turns around and practically screams seeing him just standing there and all embarrassed 😂 what happens after that is completely up to you.

Dance With Me

(Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader)

A/N: I'm BACK!! lol. I'm so sorry for the long wait on your request and I absolutely love this song!! Such a bop. I honestly changed some details of your request and I added some details that my lovely Latinx spiderlings mentioned.

A/N: If you guys wanna read some more of my stuff, check out my master list. I have closed the tag list, but if you guys want live updates, a meeting place for simps, and maybe get your ideas added to fics, then come join the discord!

WARNINGS: Grumpy x Sunshine, Female Reader/ Female Pronouns, Pregnancy, Fluff, Embarrassing situation, and Deepl Translated Spanish ((Y'all let me know if the translations are better with this new site some of y'all recommended.))

~~~~~~~~~

“¿Segura que vas a estar bien sola, mami?” Are you sure you're going to be alright on your own, mami? Miguel mumbles as he looks at his love standing by the oven. His eyes cautiously watch her hips sway softly as she hums softly to herself and makes her French toast. Her swollen stomach makes her movements seem more imbalanced.

“I’m sure, Miggy.” The heavily pregnant woman reassures her love. The woman turned back to her worried lover as he stood by the door in his blue spider suit.

Hitting the third trimester of pregnancy has led to Miguel becoming more of a protective force than he was before. He already had to fight his stubborn little sunshine to be benched during the first two months of her pregnancy, which resulted in the compromise of her moving into this apartment to appease both of them. Now in the sixth month of bringing this new little life into the world, the man had to basically be pried away from his apartment in order for him to go on missions outside of his dimension.

For example, if there wasn’t another Spot on the loose again, Miguel would be content with staying home with his girls and gorging on the trashy romantic comedies that she kept playing on repeat. Of course, he would never voice his disdain for the films. Not when he gets to see her eyes light up in delight as her voice floods the apartment in laughter.

“You really don’t need to worry about us, mi amor.” She calmly assures him as she wraps her arms around him. Her bump made it difficult for her to embrace him, but the little flutter of feet against his abdomen made up for it. “We always know that Papi will always keep us safe.” She mutters as her bright smile cuts through Miguel’s heart.

Cupping her face, Miguel whispers softly, “¿Qué hice para merecerte?” What did I do to deserve you? He presses gently kisses on her forehead, cheeks, and lips as she giggles at the feathery light affection. Miguel knees down and pressed a firm kiss on her bump while whispering, “Pórtate bien, Estrellita. No quiero que le causes muchos problemas a tu mami mientras no estoy.” Be good, little star. I don't want you to cause your mommy too much trouble while I'm gone.

A strong kick meets Miguel’s lips unexpectedly as he chuckles at Maria’s attempt to tell her father to get on the road.

Standing up, He gives his love another kiss before heading out. As he swings away, the pregnant woman looks down at her bump and mumbles.

“Now that Papa is gone, we can have some fun.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Lyla, si vuelves a mandarme a algún sitio así, te pondré en el monitor de bebés de Mayday.” Lyla, if you ever send me anywhere like that again, I will put you into Mayday's baby monitor. Miguel seethes as he limps out of the portal with the rest of the team.

The mission was a lot more difficult than the team was briefed on. They knew that The Spot was involved, but Lyla didn’t mention Doctor Octavious and a Prowler would be there as well. Miguel had handled the two while the others worked to capture The Spot, but the task wasn’t easy as the large claw marks along his sides and heavy bruising proved. Luckily, they managed to capture the enemies, but everyone receive a significant amount of damage.

Lyla laughs as she plays with some weird virtual version of a toy Gwen had yesterday. The annoying popping of the rubber bubbles causes Miguel’s already sour mood to worsen as she muses, “ No need to fuss, Miggy. You guys are still alive and ready to kick ass tomorrow.”

“I don’t think being alive is a good thing right now…” Pavitr groans as he plops onto the floor as Hobie grumbles beside him about his destroyed guitar.

Jess rolls her eyes as she plops herself in Miguel’s normal spot by the monitor and throws Miguel a knowing glance.

“Why don’t you head on home, Migue?’ Jess offers which causes him to look at her a little surprised. “You need to be home with Sunny. Believe me, I understand how uncomfortable she is right now.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” Miguel argues, “What about your-”

“My husband can handle Little Bit while I finish this report.” Jessica shuts him down as she shoots him a familiar glare he recognizes from his own mother. God, he hopes his sweet sunny doesn’t develop a glare like that. She would have him running for his money.

Miguel silently thanks his friend as he leaves, opting to swing home instead of the portal. Deciding to pick up some takeout from her favorite restaurant on the way.

~~~~~~~~

As Miguel approaches the door to their apartment, the soft buzz of pop music filters through the thick walls of the building. His eyebrow quirks up as he softly opens the door. The young black and white mass of fur greets with silent chirps as Miguel shushes him. He closes the door quietly as he kneels down and scratches behind the cat’s ears.

“¿Qué hacían nuestras chicas mientras yo no estaba, Moony?” What were our girls doing while I was gone, Moony? He coos as he stands up and places the bags of food on the counter.

Moony runs off as the soft voice he loves fills the apartment.

“Don't need no one, she can dance on her own

Club is closin', but she ain't goin' home

Night is still young, where the hell will she go?

Nobody knows nobody knows”

The hyper-pop music boomed from the sound system as Miguel rounds the corner and his face splits into a bright grin. His red eyes soften as he watches his pregnant love freely dancing around the living room with a pint of ice cream in her hand. His worn sweater consumes her frame as she twirls and blurts out lyrics.

“Can't tame her magic energy

She's so magnetic, pulls you in every time (every time)

Every time (every time)

But she don't care, she gonna do what she wants (she wants)”

Watching her ridiculously move with a large bump almost made Miguel chuckle, but he didn’t want to disturb her yet. He waits for her to twirl one more time before stalking toward their bedroom.

She continues her private concert as she shoves a spoonful of ice cream before using it as a microphone. The utter giddy from these past few months filled her being as she sings out.

“And you can't tie her down

When the night comes around (around)

Said she gonna party all night (all night)

And you can't change her

Can't blame her, can't tame her”

A pair of warm arms wrap around her waist as her heart stops in her chest for a moment before a warm purr rumbles in his chest. She relaxes as her purring lover mumbles, “Parece que tuviste un día divertido, mi amor.” You look like you had a fun day, my love.

“I did.” I giggle as she can feel his hips sway to the music with hers, playfully dancing with her. His warm hands gently rub her stomach as their little one happily greets her father with little kicks. “She’s gonna be ready to fight crime by the time she gets out of there.” She jokes through a particularly hard kick. The mother was now sure that Maria is gonna be as strong as Miguel with the bruises she was starting to have.

“Bien. Quiero que aleje a todos esos niñatos de ella hasta que tenga treinta años.” Good. I want her to fight all of those little boys away from her until she's thirty. Miguel grumbles as he thinks about his little girl possibly dating little punks in the future.

“Papi, she’s not even here yet and you’re already so protective.” She giggles as she turns around in his arms. Her eyes light up as she’s met with her grumpy boyfriend’s bare chest and low-hanging joggers, but a pout appears as she sees the large claw marks and bruises running on his sides.

“Por supuesto que sí.” Of course, I am. Miguel smiles mischievously as the music transitions into a familiar upbeat tune that causes his love’s concern to fade to amusement. “Tengo que proteger a mis hijas y mostrarles cómo los hombres de verdad tratan a sus hijas.” I have to protect my girls and show them how real men treat their girls.

A whirlwind of laughter fills the room as Miguel starts to pull her into the Cumbia. Her moments of imbalance missteps were soothed by his strong hands as he catches her. The couple spend their evening in each other’s arms dancing and loving their growing family.

~~~~~~~~~~~

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#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #across the spiderverse #fanfic

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fairlyang · 9 months

Text

Eres mía 🕷️

you'll always be his and he won't let you forget it

w/c: 2.3K

pairing: crazyex!miguel x takenfem!reader

tags: 18+ smut. homewrecking & cheating (don't do that!), making out, teasing, dry humping, grinding, save a horse ride a cowboy, cow girl, unprotected sex, slight cockwarming

notes: I use to listen to romeo’s toxic ass back in elementary- like I was a CHILD listening to this man sing abt snatching someone’s girl - n e way his songs are iconic

Ya me han informado que tu novio es un insípido aburrido

Tú que eres fogata y el tan frío

Your friends had given Miguel the chisme that you found yourself a new boyfriend and that he was a boring cold piece of shit. Just based off that he knew that man wasn't going to be better good for you.

Or better than he was to you.

Let alone the fact that you'd actually forgotten about him.

Dice tu amiguita que es celoso, no quiere que sea tu amigo

Sospecha que soy un pirata y robaré su flor

After your breakup you decided to remain friends, which was a given because the relationship ended on good terms. You only didn't tell him because you had to tell your girls first and kinda told them it was fine if they gave him the news, which they did with ease.

Then came the problem, your best friend pulled Miguel aside and told him that he was already a jealous man. But when you told him your ex was still a part of your main friend group he flipped.

Said he didn't want you to still be friends with your ex but you laughed in his face and waved him off.

Then he laughed when your best friend told him that your man suspected that Miguel was going to act like a pirate and steal what's rightfully his.

No te asombres

Si una noche

Entro a tu cuarto y nuevamente te hago mía

A couple days after receiving the news Miguel went to your place unannounced. You weren't exactly surprised he showed, you figured you should talk about it.

But he had other plans.

As soon as you closed the door behind you both, he grabbed your waist and stepped towards you, making your back hit the door. You looked at him with new annoyance and rolled your eyes before looking up at him. "Just wanted to give you a little warning." He murmurs and leans down, contemplating if he should kiss you or not.

"For what?" You sigh and cross your arms against your chest.

"Don't be surprised the day I come into your room and make you mine again." He whispers and you kept a straight face.

But you couldn't help the way your heart began racing when he finished speaking. And the close proximity didn't help either.

Bien conoces

Mis errores

El egoísmo de ser dueño de tu vida

"Sounds like a threat to me." You joke and he just scoffs.

"Don't start." He warns and you just shrug giving him a sweet smile.

"You know all my mistakes.... But you also know how my ego can be.." he starts and brought a hand up to cup your jaw and stroke your cheek gently. "about needing to be a part of your life."

Eres mía, mía, mía

No te hagas la loca, eso muy bien ya lo sabías

You bit your lip and locked eyes with him, of course he was being dead serious. He was never able to let go.

But maybe you still hadn't either.

Especially with the way those butterflies appeared in your stomach. Just like old times.

"You're mine." He whispers and you want to look away but you simply can't.

Because of the way he was holding you, making you look at him, and because deep down you didn't want to.

"And don't act surprised because you already knew this." He whispers sending a shiver down your spine.

Si tú te casas

El día de tu boda

Le digo a tu esposo con risas

Que solo es prestada

La mujer que ama

Porque sigues siendo mía (Mía)

"If you get married, the day of your wedding I'll tell your husband, while laughing in his face, that the woman he loves is only borrowed, because you're still mine." He says starting to really shake you up.

Your mind was running wild, your body was also having a mind of its own. You knew you had to stop this from moving forward, but you didn't have the strength to.

Dicen que un clavo saca un clavo pero eso es solo rima

No existe una herramienta que saque mi amor

"Nothing in the world can take out my love for you." He whispers and leans even closer to your face, merrily inches apart.

No te asombres

Si una noche

Entro a tu cuarto y nuevamente te hago mía

He takes notice of how you're not pushing him away, yelling at him to leave. So he uses this as his green light and leans in, getting rid of the space between you two and kisses you.

Bien conoces

Mis errores

El egoísmo de ser dueño de tu vida

You kiss him back passionately and wrap your arms behind his neck as he brings his hands down to your waist again. He walks backwards, bringing you with him and knowing your apartment like the back of his hand, maneuvering around your couch and going to the front of it.

He then felt the cushion of it and sat down, pulling you on top of him as you positioned yourself on his lap. His hands already began wandering your body, knowing exactly where and how you liked to be touched.

One of his hands was on your jaw and the other on your lower back, trailing along softly. Yours were now playing with his hair, lightly tugging and earning yourself those groans that’d drive you insane.

Suddenly you feel a smack on your ass making you moan so he slid his tongue into your mouth, not wanting to waste any time.

But he’s missed your kisses so much, he couldn’t help himself.

Eres mía, mía, mía

No te hagas la loca, eso muy bien ya lo sabías

He then pulled away and gently moved your head to the side. His lips were now on leaving kisses on your jaw and slowly making their way down.

You closed your eyes and realized how much you missed him. He hadn’t touched you in over ten months, too much time for you both.

He sucked on your skin before softly licking it then peppering kissed on the bruise he left. “All mine.” He murmurs and moves down to leave another by your collarbone.

Si tú te casas

El día de tu boda

Le digo a tu esposo con risas

Que solo es prestada

La mujer que ama

Porque sigues siendo mía (Mía mía mía)

You let out a shaky breath and attempt to squeeze your thighs together, only to create some friction between you and Miguel’s growing bulge.

You whimper while Miguel moans against your skin, leaving yet another mark. “Miguel-“

He hums and grabs the ends of your tee shirt before pulling it up exposing your pretty tits to him. Oh how badly he’s missed them.

He got to work and squeezed them both between his hands then sucked on the left nipple. He pinched your right nipple earning himself a moan before then alternating and sucks on your right nipple harshly.

Almost as if you’d disappear out of his hands if he was gentle or let go of you.

Te deseo lo mejor

Y el mejor, soy yo

He plops your nipple out of his mouth and looks up at you, “I only want what’s best for you…”

“And the best just happens to be me.” He mumbles and goes back to sucking on your left nipple.

You cried out and you bucked your hips against his, feeling his hard on against your barely covered cunt. Only the tiniest pair of fabric which is what you called panties.

But for Miguel those specific kinds you loved wearing were practically g strings, barely covering any of your cunt if anything your lips were out to show.

He pulled away and looked down at your body, a smirk tugging on his lips as you looked down in embarrassment.

“Still wearing these huh?” He teases and you just nod.

“That asshole doesn’t deserve you.” He murmurs and moves his hands to your hips, making you grind against him.

You know your heart is mine

And you'll love me forever

You gasped and started doing it on your own, still with his help because you knew how much he loved to grip your hips and watch at the same time. “You’re so beautiful baby.” He mumbles and you feel yourself clench against nothing.

He chuckles and smiles before letting go of your hips and grabs your hands, interlocking your fingers together as you continued your pace.

You could already feel your arousal soak through your panties and onto the sweatpants he was wearing. Way too fast but given Miguel always had you like that.

You know your heart is mine

And you'll love me forever

Your breathing was getting heavier as you grinded directly on Miguel’s length, you swore you could feel it occasionally twitch which just felt so good against your clit.

You gripped his hands and felt your eyes fluttering, “doing so good pretty girl.” He moaned out and felt his precum leak even more.

Baby, your heart is mine

And you'll love me forever

“Just missed you so much.” He mumbles and you open your lips to look at him, leaning in and leaving a peck on his lips.

He was going to kiss back but you wanted to prove a point so you pulled back and leaned your forehead against his, “I did too.”

Baby, your heart is mine

And you'll love me forever

His heart skipped a beat and he could feel his face grow warm. You smiled and then got off warning yourself a frown from him.

Until he noticed you were just taking off your soaked panties and dropping them to the floor.

You then leaned down and grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them down as he lifted his hips up so you can take them off.

No te asombres

Si una noche

Entro a tu cuarto y nuevamente te hago mía

You slid them down his legs and off his feet, dropping them to the floor before looking at his bulge, more so his boxers that were shiny from your slick.

You widen your eyes in shock then chuckle, it was more than normal…

You then went into his boxers and grabbed his cock, sliding it through the hole before once again getting on top of him. This time having the same thing in mind, except this time you’d be grinding your bare cunt on to his cock.

It was already swung up by his stomach so you sat down, positioning yourself directly on top of his shaft. You whimpered at the new feeling and slowly started to move your hips as Miguel laid his head back onto the couch. “Oh fuck baby.” He groaned and brought his hands to your hips, gripping your skin gently.

You felt your slick move with every movement and your cunt felt so good against his cock. It wasn’t like anything you’ve both felt.

Now you were left wondering why you’d never try that before.

Bien conoces

Mis errores

El egoísmo de ser dueño de tu vida

But you quickly remembered why when Miguel was giving you those eyes. Those eyes he gave you when he needed you.

All too familiar and you weren’t going to deny him the pleasure of finally being inside you after missing you for so many months.

And vice versa.

You missed his cock. And all of him in general. You just couldn’t get yourself to admit it.

So you decide to show it.

You lift yourself up and grab his cock, positioning him into your entrance then without a second to spare, you slam down onto him making you both moan.

You then brought yourself back up then slam back down making you whimper. It’d been so long it was as if it was a brand new cock inside you.

Eres mía, mía mía mía

No te hagas la loca, eso muy bien ya lo sabías

Not wanting to waste anymore time you continued fucking yourself into him as he moaned out praises and sweet nothings that were only bringing you closer to the edge.

You were practically edging the both of you so your orgasm wasn’t too far off, and you hadn’t been having the best sex recently so this was already having you going fast.

And worse that it was with Miguel of all people.

But end of the day it was going to be hard for you to turn him down.

He then starts thrusting up as you came down, ensuring he’d thrust deep inside you already. “Missed this so badly baby.” He moans and he slams into you harder.

“F-Feels s- fuck! Feels so g-good Miguel.” You moan and grab onto his shoulders to support yourself.

“I know baby, I know. Fuck I’ve missed you.” He groans and thrusts into you harder making your legs shake.

Si tu te casas

El día de tu boda

Le digo a tu esposo con risas (ha ha ha ha ha)

Que solo es prestada

La mujer que ama

Porque sigues siendo mía

He twitched inside you and your were clenching against him which only made him speed up. He needed you to cum around him so badly.

“Cum for me baby. I need to feel you cum around my cock.” He grunts and you nod vigorously before crying out.

“You’re all fucking mine.” He moans making you let out bundles of moans and whimpers for him. Your orgasm quickly approached you and hit you hard like a tidal wave.

Your whole body began shaking as he groaned and shot his load inside you. He sat his ass on the couch and let you sit on his cock as he filled you up to the brim.

You were both breathing heavily and you could hear your heart beat ringing in your ear. You brought your body down and laid your head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you lovingly.

You felt him kiss the top of your head as you closed your eyes and calmed your breathing down. He did the same except with a wide grin on his face, he missed you so much and now he finally had you back in his arms for good.

#miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara smut #miguel o hara #miguel ohara oneshot

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